


Thieves Like Us

by empressearwig



Category: Heist Society Series - Ally Carter
Genre: F/M, Family, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/pseuds/empressearwig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To raise a thief, it takes a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thieves Like Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrikate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrikate/gifts).



> Happy yuletide, afrikate! I hope this is something like what you were looking for.

i.

> Across the busy square, she saw the shop where her mother had bought her a pair of bright red patent leather shoes for Christmas. She wished a lot of things.
> 
> ~ Heist Society, pg. 23

Bobby didn't understand why Kat was fighting with him about a pair of shoes.

If she'd been older, or someone else entirely, then sure, he would have understood. But his precocious seven year-old daughter wasn't one for more feminine frills. Or at least she hadn't been since--

He shook his head. He wasn't going to think about that now, not with a mutinous Kat sitting in front of him still not wearing any shoes.

"Sweetheart," he said, trying again. He smiled winningly and held out the shiny black shoes he'd bought her when he noticed her red ones were pinching her toes. "Don't you want to go to Uncle Eddie's for Christmas dinner?"

"Yes," she said.

"Then put your new shoes on and let's go," he said.

Kat shook her head. "I don't want those shoes. I want the red shoes."

"But the red shoes don't fit," he said. He knelt down at her feet and lifted one, holding one of the red shoes next to it. "See? Your foot is too big. And the black ones are shiny too."

"No," Kat said. She folded her thin arms across her chest and stared at him with a stubborn, almost mutinous expression on her face.

Bobby knew that look. His wife had looked at him with that look whenever his eyes got too big for his stomach and he wanted to try a job that was more than he was ready for. Bobby had no defense for that look.

"Okay, kiddo," he said, with a sigh. He slid one of the red shoes into place and buckled the clasp. "But if your Uncle Eddie notices and asks why I can't buy you shoes that fit, this isn't my fault."

When he was finished and the shoes were in place, Kat slid out of her chair and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you, Daddy," she said.

"I love you, too, princess." He rose to his feet, Kat still in his arms. "Let's go eat some goulash."

Kat laughed in his ear and for a moment, the sound was almost enough to make him forget what they were both missing so much. But then the moment passed, and it was still Christmas without his wife.

Bobby Bishop was a gifted thief, the most natural inside man in a generation. Everyone said so. But there were some things you couldn't steal no matter how much you wanted them.

He knew that now.

ii.

> "Are you really that afraid of water?"
> 
> "I'm not afraid of water, Simon," Kat yelled. "I'm afraid of drowning. There's a difference."
> 
> ~ Uncommon Criminals, pg. 149

Irina lowered her magazine and scanned the beach for the children.

Gabrielle was playing with some children in the sparkling Mediterranean water--good choices, Irina noted idly, spotting the bored nannies waiting for them on the shore. Satisfied her daughter was fine, Irina looked for Kat. And at that, she frowned. Rather than playing in the water with Gabrielle and the potential marks -- children, she reminded herself, today they were just children -- Kat was sitting on a towel, far back from the water. 

Irina might not have been the most conventional of mothers, but that didn't mean she wasn't a good one. And there was something very wrong about a child who was not the slightest bit interested in a day at the beach.

"Kat!" she called out, waving her hand when Kat looked up. "Come here, darling."

She watched as Kat obediently rose to her feet and plodded her way through the sand until she reached Irina's side. 

"Yes, Aunt Irina?" Kat asked. 

Irina's hand twitched with the desire to push Kat's too long hair out of her eyes, but she knew Kat wouldn't welcome the mothering. "Darling, don't you want to play with Gabrielle and the other children? It looks like they're having fun."

Kat made a face and shook her head. "I'm okay."

Irina frowned. "Are you sure?" she asked. "I know you and Gabrielle don't always get along, but I'm sure that--"

"It's not that," Kat said. Her cheeks turned just the faintest bit pink. "It's just that--I mean--" She trailed off, flustered, which other than the time that no one could really speak of, wasn't something Irina wasn't sure she'd ever seen from her niece.

"Yes?" Irina prompted.

"I can't swim," Kat blurted out. She looked like she wanted to disappear under the sand and Irina regretted pressing the issue. She hadn't meant to embarrass the child, after all.

"Is that all?" Irina said, thinking fast. She wasn't a member of the family for nothing, after all. Being able to think on their feet was a gift handed down from generation to generation, along with a list of cons and the blueprints to Buckingham Palace. "We can fix that."

Kat stopped looking at her toes. "We can?"

"Of course," Irina said. "You and me, we'll go down to the pool tonight and I'll give you a lesson. How's that sound?"

She'd hate to ruin her hair, of course, but the look of gratitude on Kat's face made it completely worthwhile. 

"That's settled then," Irina said, though Kat hadn't said anything at all. She patted the sand next to her. "Why don't you sit down with me? We don't want some concerned bystander getting too interested after all. Not when your father is busy helping himself in the cabanas."

Kat grinned and sat down next to Irina. 

* 

That night, when everyone else in the villa was asleep, Irina took Kat to the pool and gave her a swimming lesson and continued to do so for the rest of their working vacation.

When Kat went back to New York with her father, neither Kat nor Irina ever mentioned the lessons again.

iii.

> Sometimes Katarina Bishop couldn't help but wonder if she had been the victim of some colossal, genetic mistake. After all, she almost always preferred black to pink, flats to heels, and as she stood perfectly still atop one of the silk upholstered chairs in Hale's great-great-grandmother's dressing room, all she could think was maybe she wasn't even female--at least when compared to Gabrielle. 
> 
> ~ Heist Society, pg. 213

Gabrielle stood in the doorway of the bedroom that wasn't really theirs and watched Kat watch herself in the mirror. She watched Kat frown and tug the hem of her shirt down, trying to flatten out fabric that would never be completely flat again, even if Kat wasn't prepared to deal with that reality.

Kat finally had breasts. And that was something that Gabrielle knew all about.

"You need a bra, Kitty Kat," Gabrielle said, pushing off the door frame and coming into the room. She sprawled out on the bed that had been her mother's, tucking her legs up underneath her. "I can help."

In the mirror, Kat frowned at her and tugged harder at the shirt. "Pass."

Gabrielle sighed. Kat had to be difficult about everything. "You're ruining that shirt, you know."

"I thought you hated this shirt," Kat said.

"Oh, I do," Gabrielle said, with a nod of her head. "But it doesn't deserve to suffer for your denial."

Kat frowned again. "I'm not in denial."

"You are," Gabrielle countered. "And why, I don't know, because I've seen you looking enviously at my bras. I thought you wanted boobs."

"I did," Kat said. She sat down on the other bed and clutched the pillow that bore her mother's name to her chest. "I do."

"With boobs come bras," Gabrielle said helpfully. 

Kat sent her a withering glare. "I _know_ that."

"Then what's the problem?" 

Kat shrugged, and it looked like a helpless gesture, but that couldn't be true because if there was one thing her cousin had never been, it was helpless. Gabrielle looked from the pillow to Kat's miserable face and back to the pillow.

The word -- the name -- that they never spoke, suddenly sounded very large in the silence of the room that their mother's had once shared as girls.

Teasing Kat was Gabrielle's right as the elder cousin, but this wasn't fun anymore. This was something much more cruel.

But she could fix that.

Gabrielle unfolded herself from the bed and stood. "We're going shopping," she announced.

Kat looked up at her. "What?"

Gabrielle grabbed her hand and pulled her up off the other bed. "Shopping. It's a lot like stealing, but we actually pay."

"I know what shopping is, Gabrielle."

At the foot of the stairs was Uncle Bobby, who was looking up at them with a mixture of amusement and concern on his face. Gabrielle thought that was fair. When they finally came to a halt in front of him, she held out her hand, using the most imperious of the looks her mother had taught her.

"I need your credit card, Uncle Bobby."

He frowned at her, and it was an expression that Gabrielle knew well, having just seen it on Kat's face. "But--"

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow, and tapped her toe on the oak floor, just once. Less was more, her mother always said. Except in diamonds. "Your credit card, Uncle Bobby."

He held up his hands in surrender and then lowered one to pull out his wallet. "I know when I'm beat," he said.

Gabrielle smiled at him as he handed over a gold card. She tucked it into her pocket. "That's why you're my favorite uncle."

She pulled Kat the rest of the way to the door, scooping up her purse from the table next to the door. 

"Have fun girls!" Uncle Bobby called after them.

Gabrielle waved goodbye over her shoulder and dragged a still scowling Kat down the brownstone steps. 

They were going shopping and Kat could damn well thank her later. 

(She didn't.)

iv.

> But inside, nothing ever changed. The hallway was always dim. The air always smelled like the Old Country, or what she'd been told the Old Country smelled like: cabbage and carrots and things simmering for long hours over slow heat in cast-iron pots that would outlive them all. 
> 
> ~ Heist Society, pg. 41

Eddie was at the stove, stirring the stew that he'd had over low heat since the morning, when he heard the front door of the brownstone open. He listened to the footsteps on the floorboards to identify who it was. They were quick and flat, which meant that they could not belong to the elder of his grandnieces, and they were too light to be any of the motley crew of boys that tagged along behind them. That left one person.

Katarina.

Eddie was a man who loved his family and he would never allow himself to do anything so low as to play favorites between the girls who were the nearest thing he would ever have to grandchildren of his own. But Katarina was his favorite, or at the very least, the one he saw the most of himself in.

With Katarina, even with her misguided values regarding proper ownership in place, he was certain that the family legacy was safe. 

But there were other family legacies too, and those, he had yet to teach her. It was time to fix that.

"Katarina!" he called out. "Come into the kitchen, please."

More footsteps in the hall, and then she was there beside him. She had an impressively large presence for a person of such small stature.

"Hi," she said, leaning forward to smell what was cooking in the pot. "What's going on?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Does something have to be going on for me to want to speak to my grand-niece?"

"No," she said. "But you don't usually command my presence in the kitchen if there isn't."

Eddie did not smile, though he wanted to. "We are having family dinner tonight," he said instead. "You will help me get ready."

"You want me to set the table?" she asked, already turning for the cabinets. "How many of us are there going to be?"

"No," he said.

Kat turned back towards him, surprise on her face. "No?"

"No, you will not help me set the table," he said. "You can make the bread."

Kat blinked at him. "You want me to help you…cook?"

"Yes," he said, with a nod. "It is time."

"But you never let any of us help," she said.

He waved a hand through the air, dismissing her words. "It wasn't time then. It is time now."

"Okay," Kat said, dragging the word out until it was much longer the two syllables it possessed. "What do I do first? What am I making?"

"A mixing bowl," he said. "Start by finding a mixing bowl."

As Kat went to work, searching the cabinets for a bowl, Eddie allowed himself one small smile. 

Nadia had been surprised too, he remembered. He would teach her daughter the way he had taught her, many years ago.

That too, was a family legacy.

v.

> "He's better looking than the last vagabond I had to take in," Eddie said, standing and carrying empty bowls to the sink. "I'll give him that."
> 
> The insult slid off Bobby like water. "So, you know, kid, according to thief culture, if you're going to court Kat, you now owe me two dozen goats."
> 
> "It's a dozen," Eddie corrected.
> 
> "Yeah, but Kat's worth two," Hamish said with a wink.
> 
> ~ Perfect Scoundrels

It was Christmas, and the entire family was stuffed into the kitchen at Eddie's except his daughter and the rich boy that she'd brought home with her almost a decade before.

Parents worried about their children, Bobby knew that. But he'd never worried about Kat in the way that he imagined a normal parent worried about their kids. He hadn't worried about her breaking curfew or being late getting home from school. His nightmares had involved foreign jails and barking dogs and bad information when planning for jobs. 

But if there was a place where Bobby's worries intersected with those of parents everywhere, it was with regards to Kat's love life.

He liked Hale. He'd been Hale, minus the billions and the corporation to his name. And in his heart, Bobby knew that Hale loved his little girl. None of that made him good enough for her. And even if he'd had a decade to get used to it, he was increasingly worried that the boy who reminded him entirely too much of himself was going to take his daughter away from him for good.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Stop brooding, Robert. There is no room for that at my table." 

"She's late," Bobby said, eyeing the door again. Kat had not appeared out of thin air in the two seconds since he'd last looked. "Kat's never late."

"She is fine," Eddie said. 

"I know she's fine," Bobby said. Really, he thought, for a man who still didn't think Bobby had been good enough for one of his girls, Eddie should have been more on his side. "But she should be here."

Eddie looked as if he wanted to hit him in the head, but the sound of the front door opening stopped him. Instead, he looked smug, as he said, "And she is."

Kat appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, to a wall of greetings. Her dark hair peeked out from beneath a bright red wool hat and her cheeks were flushed with the cold. She scurried around the table to join them, pressing a kiss to Eddie's cheek before bending to do the same to his own.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said. 

"Your father worried," Eddie said. 

"Snitch," Bobby muttered.

Kat frowned at both of them. "I'm sorry."

Bobby waved a hand in the air. "It's not your fault. I'm just feeling very parental today." He looked around the room, noting the lack of Hale. "Where's the boy?"

Kat didn't smile, though Bobby could tell that she wanted to. "He's outside. He has a present for you."

Bobby looked at her suspiciously. "Hale and I don't buy each other presents. And why is he outside?"

"We didn't think it would fit in the brownstone," Kat said. She took his hands in her own and pulled him to his feet. "And besides, you asked for this one."

"I've never asked that boy for a present," Bobby protested, as she dragged him to the front door. 

"Hale, Daddy."

"I'll call him what I want."

"About that," Kat said, and opened the front door. She pulled him out onto the stoop and waited.

It took a great deal to surprise Bobby, but the sight of two dozen goats in the middle of a Brooklyn street was enough to do that. And there was Hale, he noted, standing in the middle of them and holding a lead for one of the goats.

"You asked me for these eight years ago," Hale called up from the sidewalk. "I'm sorry they're late. Goats are surprisingly hard to purchase in Manhattan. Something about zoning."

A memory surfaced, and with it a realization that Bobby didn't like one bit. He turned to Kat. "Are you--"

Kat bit her lip and nodded, tugging off her left glove. On her ring finger, a diamond winked up at him.

Engaged. 

His daughter was engaged.

Kat took his hand again, twining their fingers and squeezing tight. "Be happy for me, Daddy."

Bobby looked down at his daughter's face and gave her his best smile, before folding her in his arms for a hug. "I am. Your mother would be, too."

He heard Kat's breath catch, and when he drew back, they both pretended the others eyes weren't damp.

To the waiting Hale, Bobby said, "What, four carats was the best you could do?"

Hale shrugged and grinned. "Well, you know that Kat has those delicate little hands. I didn't want it to look tacky."

"It's a diamond," Bobby said. "There's no such thing."

Beside him, Kat laughed.


End file.
